


WTF mate. Stop hogging the everclear!

by Who_First



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_First/pseuds/Who_First
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bar fighting with mercenaries</p>
            </blockquote>





	WTF mate. Stop hogging the everclear!

**Author's Note:**

> Bar fight as asked for by my sis. Her character is Mic the Kiwi, while mine is TSA the mercenary. Short and fun to write.

 

 _“Guess who just got back today, them wild eyed boys that’d been away”_

 _  
_

He did not want to hand over the bottle. Everclear was 190 proof; the strongest drink out there barring incredibly illegal West Virginian moonshine that would boil eyeballs with the fumes alone. No one could blame him that he didn’t want that kind of drink to be handed over to the two men in front of him.

 

Quinn winced, fingers tightening on the bottle, as the men glared. Yeah. Giving that kind of drink to those two was a bad idea. 

 

“Ifa you don’t give me the fuckin’ bottle, I get my little toy and I fuckin’ shoot you.” The dark haired one was snarling as he leaned forwards over the bar, fists tight on the hopefully imaginary 'little toy'.

 

“I have a flamethrower,” his companion offered, wide grin showing every tooth stretching across his face, spiked blond hair glittering in the smokey light. Quinn guessed that he was probably insane.

 

The bartender hesitated only long enough to take in the murderous anger about to spill over from the dark haired one, and the casually insane grin on his friend, before dropping the bottle in front of them and quickly heading to the other end of the bar. In valor vs. cowardice, the coward would live to see another day. Besides, it looked like there was a fight starting behind the two men, judging by the arguing and increasing noise level. Best to move away before glass started flying.

 

“Hah! Fuckin piker,” Mic growled, quirking scarred lips as he eyes the retreating barman, right hand curling tight around around the bottle before pouring two drinks. He threw back his cup like a shot, though a shot from a full coffee mug sized cup, and grinned at his friend with the flamethrower. Half the bottle already gone in two cups.

 

“You’ll waste it, drinking so fast,” TSA muttered, grabbing his own overly large mug and sipping pointedly with narrowed eyes.

 

“Nah, just get more then.” Mic grinned, rubbing one hand at scarred lips, the other waving at the hiding bartender.

 

TSA waited until a second full bottle was dropped in front of them, by the grimacing barman, ignoring the increasing noise of shouting people behind him. “It’s a wonder you can hit anything, even with machine guns, drinking that much.”

 

“Fucker,” Mic muttered, forgoing the his cup, to drain the last of the first bottle. “Least it’s not o fuckin sniper.” His extremely scarred right hand curled around the second bottle, dragging it once again closer to him. “Fucking sheila weapon that is. Need guts to do close up work.”

 

“Good way to get you hand chopped off too.” The blond mercenary was grinning again.

 

“Piss off,” Mic sneered, chugging more Everclear while throwing TSA the finger. “Sheila’s dig scars, shows I’m a man.”A smug grin crossed Mic’s face, “Don’t see any scars on you.”

 

“Deranged Kiwi.” The flat olive colored eyes narrowed, snatching the Everclear bottle as he replied. “To borrow from our American friends, I have no scars ‘because I’m that good’.”

 

“Fucking liar.” Mic stood carefully leaving the bottle of Everclear on the counter while sneering at TSA. the Everclear was a bit on the strong and it hadn’t been the first drink of the night. Nor anywhere near the eighth drink of the night. Hands were curling in fists as he eyed the blond mercenary.

 

TSA stood slowly, smirking at his drunken partner, the two mercenaries still ignoring the loud arguing going on behind them in favor of their glaring match.

 

Both jumped backwards a split second before an overly large man careened into the bar. There was a long moment as they froze, watching the bottle of Everclear tip in slow motion before it fell behind the bar with a crashing, splattering noise.

 

There was an even longer almost silence, as Mic’s mouth dropped open in horrified disbelief and TSA’s cat like grin of pure insanity vanished like snow in hell.

 

And then time sped up.

 

Two fists slammed into the Everclear wasting bastard’s face, head crunching back into the bar, before Mic grabbed around the guys' throat, tossing him back into the brawl.

 

“Well mate,” Mic lifted his scarred right hand to brush at his face, before falling into a boxer’s pose, “Think we need to teach some drongo’s about wasting alcohol.”

 

“After you, Kiwi fruit.” TSA grinned widely, slowly pulling off his jacket and leaving it on his bar stool.

 

Sharp laughter was Mic’s reply as he picked up his own bar stool, wielding it like a giant baseball bat. “Fuck you, Mercy.”

 

TSA stalked forwards, grabbing the closest fighter by the neck, throwing him backwards into Mic’s swinging stool. Another man turned just in time to catch the blond mercenary's steel toed boot in the face.

 

The stool was abandoned after Mic whacked a third fighter, to grab a huge football player sized guy. One hand grabbing a mostly full beer bottle from and table, while his left fist uppercut into the meaty jaw, throwing the fighter backwards into table.  

 

“Hey, Mercy!” Mic shouted, chugging the beer, punching at a charging patron, “Free drinks!”

 

“Maybe if you drank less,” The mercenary was using a big guy as a body shield, pausing to kick him forwards, jumped backwards, glancing over at Mic. “You’d have less scars.”

 

“Piss off,” the empty beer bottle broke against a head, leaving jagged points as Mic grinned at the patrons starting to surround them. “Having fun.”

 

“Amazing, truly,” TSA drawled, eyeing the bruised crowd.

 

“Betcha an Everclear I'll take out more than you!” Mic grinned tensing before using the empty bottle to attack.

 

“Go on than, Kiwi,” TSA laughed, “Show me.”

 

“Come on betches!” Mic cheered jumping forwards. **  
**


End file.
